Kindling
by anyawvossand
Summary: In the year 15 BBY, a young Zyggerian girl is rescued from slavery by a Bothan woman with a kind heart and many secrets.
1. Kindling Ch 1: 15 BBY, Halla Sector

**Ch 1: 15 BBY, Halla Sector**

"You must control your anger, Zajac."

The woman's soothing voice does nothing to calm me down, and as my fist slams into the wall I feel knuckles crack and a flare of pain that makes me wince and double over. I hug my maimed hand to my chest and my teeth grit, slender fangs glinting in the sparse lighting of this cargo bay.

"WE COULD HAVE SAVED THEM!" I wail, my black-furred ears folding back against my rough-cut black hair.

Seated meditatively on a gangplank above me, her tender is expression patient and empathetic. She looks down at me with large, reflective eyes that glint out from her mane of brown hair. A slender muzzle makes her look delicate, as do her long, severely pointed ears. She's a Bothan, and though I don't know very much about her people, I know that among them she must be considered well-bred and aristocratic.

It only makes me feel worse. My tense expression deepens, my teeth gritting into a yellow snarl as my own amber eyes look up at her imploringly. Begging her to make this better, even though I know that she's already done all she can.

"Please..." I mewl shakily, but already I can feel the ship's engines rumbling to life as we come out of light speed. By now we're impossibly far away, but my heart is still there.

With one last glance, the woman above me rises to her bare feet and pads silently along the walkway, where the hiss of an opening hatch admits her into the crew quarters of the ship. I'm left alone in a pit half-filled with crates and covered bundles, and on one of these I sit and cradle my face in the hand I haven't damaged, weeping quietly in the shadows.

* * *

When I wake up I'm in a small room. The cot beneath me is soft and clean and warm, and I find that my hand has been bandaged. For a moment I don't remember where I am or how I got here, but as I move to sit up I begin to recall – a Bothan had come to the rebuilt slave processing facility on Kadavo, ostensibly to get a preview of the stock that was to be shipped out for sale. I was among them, the target of the Zygerrian slaver's sadism because I, too, am Zygerrian. Born with skin the color of caffa and hair and fur as dark as night, I had been sold by my extended family after my parents had died. They weren't willing to keep around someone so obviously misborn, what with my strange powers and all.

I was still grieving my parents even when I'd been sent to Kadavo, and I didn't have the heart to try and get away. I didn't even put up a fight as I was led away from my holding cell, nor when I was drugged, loaded into the emptied can of a defunct R2 unit, and somehow rolled along past security. My collar locator had been removed and left in an air shaft, likely leading security to think I had gotten away on my own. When I became lucid I felt like I was in a coffin with my knees pressed up to my chest. I could hardly breathe, only watch through the slight gaps in the seals of the droid's shell as the Bothan walked into her ship and simply flew away. How long ago had that been? Hours? Days?

My right hand flexes gingerly, the ache in my knuckles still very much there. Selfishly I'd blown up at her, demanding why we hadn't saved more people, as if saving me hadn't been outrageously selfless. I get to my feet and grimace at the memory as I look around for a sanitation unit. A slender door to my right hisses open as I key in a green button on a nearby panel, and inside I see a toilet, shower, and sink. The sight almost brings me to tears – as a slave, I haven't been allowed to truly bathe for months.

By the time I'm done, a cloud of steam is filling my small cabin – I'd forgotten to seal up the door – so I switch on the vents as I towel off. The banadage is some sort of plastic adhesive and just flexible enough to let me use that hand a little bit. Jeez, did I break a bone or something? As I look at my hand and concentrate, thinking about the pain, a sudden gut clenching agony splinters from my knuckle down to my wrist. My arm shakes and I almost collapse, but I manage to keep my feet. Very quickly I get dressed, tugging on my standard-issue stock uniform as well as I can, one-handed and faint.

I'm not very familiar around ships, so it takes a few minutes before I track down the Bothan. She's in a greenhouse, the UV lights making the white parts of her robes gleam. Slowly her eyes open as I shakily walk in, and before I collapse she lifts a hand. Immediately I feel some... thing press against my chest to keep me upright, and I grip at a pipe near the wall.

"My hand..." I manage to say, my stomach threatening to disgorge its contents... which would be nothing, come to think of it. She'd stolen me before we'd been fed for the day.

The Bothan rises to her feet, her elegant legs unfolding beneath her heavy brown robes as she approaches me. Seeing how I'm about ready to pass out again, she wraps an arm around me and holds me up, guiding me to the medical bay. There I'm lain down on a padded table and my hand is gently scanned by the on-board 21B droid.

It's pleasant, unobtrusive voice chimes in with "There is a longitudinal fracture of the metacarpal bone of the index finger of the right hand."

The Bothan stands on the other side of the table thoughtfully. "That was not present on the first scan an hour ago." She looks down at me and tilts her head. "Zajac, did you strike anything else?"

I shake my head. "No, Mistress..."

Her hand lifts and I pause, and she curls all her fingers but her index, as if to make a point. "Ora." She smiles, curling her index finger to join the others, her fur ruffling along her cheeks just a little. "You should address me as Ora. I did not purchase you."

With a swallow I nod. "Yes, Ora. I... I was looking at my hand, thinking about it, feeling the pain...knowing it..." Ora narrows her eyes thoughtfully, and I continue. "And then it hurt so much I thought I'd collapse. I didn't do anything else, I promise!"

She nods and looks at the 21B's scan image of my hand, and on that long bone is a dark fracture leading down from my knuckle to my wrist, like someone had taken a hammer to it.

"How did that get there?" I ask softly, folding my ears back. Turning to her, I ask "May I sit up?"

Ora nods and orders the 21B to tend to my wrist and hand. I sit upright, hugging my knees nervously with my good hand as the droid takes off the plastic bandage and injects my right wrist with something. The sting makes me grit my teeth, but soon I can't feel any pain there anymore. Really, I can't feel anything from the wrist up, though before I can wiggle my fingers too much my hand is put into a more serious cast.

"Zajac..." Ora says calmly, gathering my attention. My ears swivel towards her, and her own swivel towards me as she caresses her silky chin fur. "...I did not come upon you by chance. I was guided to you. Something told me to look on Kadavo for something important, something precious."

My nose wrinkles. "Me?"

Ora nods. "Yes, I believe so. If my suspicions are correct, you broke your own bone by thinking about it." My eyes widen, and she holds up a hand, smiling softly. "Close your eyes right now, and think about Gi Dumpling Soup. Have you ever had it?"

My nerves are jangled but I nod, my lips pressed tightly together for a minute while I close my eyes. "Yes."

"I have had it as well. It is made with fish, is it not?"

Again I nod. "It is made with river fishes. It's a Mandalorian dish. My family had a cook who was Mandalorian, and she made it for us when we were sick."

Ora's hand settles lightly on my shoulder, her thumb caressing the bony joint through my clothing. "What was her name?"

I swallow, calming down. "Her name was Miina. We were nice to her." Taking in a nervous breath, I ask "May I open my eyes now?"

"Yes, but keep your hand still. I am not finished."

When I open my eyes I find that Ora's other hand is resting on my cast, and a green warm glow emanates from her skin. I can't feel anything because of the numbing injection, so I'm content to watch her work. After a few moments the glowing subsides and she breathes out, smiling at me. "There. Let us have 21B scan you one more time."

I nod and wait, obediently letting the droid scan my wrist and hand through the cast one more time. The image on the screen shows that my fracture has knitted back together, and the splits in the cartilage of my knuckles is also healed. My ears perk and I gasp, looking over at her. "I would much rather do that trick, Ora!"

She smiles, her teeth sharp and predatory, but finer than mine. "I would like to teach you such things, among others. If you would want to learn." My nod is so enthusiastic that 21B begins to protest, and I pout and fold my ears back as Ora laughs. "Zajac, have you heard of the Force?"

Just then my life turned sideways, and I realized suddenly who and what she is. Ora is a Jedi.

And she's found me.


	2. Kindling Ch 2: Bimmisaari - Capital

Kindling Chapter 2: Bimmisaari - Capital

Ora's ship, the Sato, pulls into orbit around a verdant world, which she tells me is called Bimmisaari. I've been up in space before, to travel from Zagerria to Kadavo, but I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. The round, perfect sphere of the planet seems so unreal, as do the ships coming and going from it. They all appear so little, like plastic toys, but I know they must be huge.

"We are not so far from the Corporate Sector that we can be careless with your appearance, Zajac" Ora muses, her fine, clawed fingers tapping in landing coordinates.

Swallowing, I huddle in a nearby bucket seat, looking out the view screen. "What should I do?"

A ripple of tension flows along her fur as she thinks, her eyes narrowing. "Your coloration is unusual for a Zygerrian; you are very dark. If we could color your skin and hair, it would help to keep the attention of informants away from you." She turns to me, smiling a little as if trying to comfort me even as she says "Even in these dark times, the Zygerrian Slaver's Guild has deep pockets and an expansive reach in this part of the galaxy. We must be cautious."

Nibbling my lip, I look down at all the ships coming and going from the green and gold ball below. "Then why did we come here?"

Her teeth flash as she grins, and she lifts up from her seat. "Because they are not the only ones with deep pockets holding sway over this quadrant. We are also in Hutt space... and in Imperial space."

My ears fold back flat against my head and my eyes widen, and as I watch her walk back towards the center of the ship I hop out of my seat. "This is crazy! This is the worst place to be!"

"Is it?" she calls back down the corridor, and I grit my teeth with irritation as I jog after her. While we might be the same height at 1.5 meters (I'm small, okay?), her pace is far quicker than mine.

I finally catch up to her in the med bay, my healing, cast-covered wrist hugged up close to my chest as my other hand braces on the doorway. "Yeah! It's nuts!"

21B wheels over and guides me into a shower-like stall, and a privacy screen lifts up.

"Hey... what... what's this thing DOING JEEZ HEY WATCH IT!" My clothing is being snipped off with sheers, leaving me naked behind the screen, and some kind of gas that's very cold is being blasted against my bare skin... everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean it. "ORA!"

The Bothan only stands idly by as 21B begins to lather up my hair and the fur on my ears, and I snarl and try to shove it away when I feel that weird invisible something pressing against me, this time around me, like an invisible rope. I can't wriggle out of it no matter hard I try.

"You must control your anger, Zajac" Ora intones again. I'm really getting sick of her saying that.

I'm furious – how dare this droidic trash touch ME?! Doesn't it know what I am?! I'm a Zygerrian! I'm not some stupid Torguta slave! My teeth snap at the droid, who buzzes something rude to me in binary before apologizing to Ora for his foul language in Basic.

In a few moments it becomes pretty obvious that I can't get out of this, so I just quietly seethe, my teeth grit in a snarl and my amber eyes narrowed. I'm not glaring at Ora, but I'm staring daggers at a wall panel. The skin and follicle dyes are all allowed to set, and last but not least, my left ear is taken up and curled back, to reveal the light pink skin tattooed with my ZSG identification number. A laser traces the glyphs, and I wince as it starts to sting as the dyes are dissolved. In a few minutes that's done, and I breathe a sigh of relief as 21B wipes down the clear, unmarked skin with a gel pad.

"There, this is suitable" Ora muses, gesturing for 21B to finally leave me alone. The invisible ropes disappear, and I hug my arms around myself behind the screen, though the arms I hug with and the body I hug are now as white as a storm trooper's armor plate. Even my nails have lost their coloration and are glossy and cream colored. I look around at myself, and then tug an ear down, and a lock of hair. White as well. My lips press together in distress and my nose wrinkles as I look over at the Bothan, but she only seems amused. "Stay there, Zajac. I will fetch you some proper clothing."

Right... I'm still naked.

Once she's out of the med bay, I climb over the screen, pouting in thought before I slip to the floor. It occurs to me to check something, and when I look down at my right hand I notice the cast is gone. I flex my fingers but there isn't any pain. Still, better be careful with it for a little bit. And whatever you do, don't think about that stupid... nope, almost thought about it. Um, um, um... Gi Ball Soup. Man, I could go for some right now. Is there any food in here? A replicator? Water? When was the last time I've eaten?

As I'm sniffing around and poking and prodding at things, a robe is wrapped around me from behind. For half a moment I startle, but the warm material keeps me from lashing out, and soon enough I breathe and stand still, letting Ora hand over the rest of my clothing. She just smiles at me and leaves the room again to afford me some privacy as I dress, and I do so as quickly as I can.

A white and gray ensemble is what was handed over. The robe is the color of ash, and the leggings and tunic I pull on are as light as my skin. My hands run over it to smooth it all down, and I can feel how soft it is. I'm pretty typical of my species in that I love the feel of fine fabrics, but my family was never rich enough to afford anything better than scratchy materials. I've never worn anything this nice before.

Boots in a matching gray to the cloak have been included, and I tug them on, finding that luckily they fit well enough. As I strap them to my calves, I notice slots on the inside for daggers. There are other hidden compartments too. I narrow my eyes and pat down my leggings, and find that similar hidden pockets line the garment around the hips. Are these smuggler's clothes? Or do other species just have a lot of things to carry? I'll have to ask Ora.

Once I tug a brush through my now white hair I'm all ready to go, and I head back out to the bridge. She's back there, dressed similarly to me, and she gestures for me to have a seat. "Good. You will still stand out, but you would have regardless. Down there we will encounter the Bimm, a species that look like Bothans but are even shorter, if you can believe it."

I smile a little as I pull on the harness for landing. "Are we going to be safe down there, Ora?"

"No, Zajac" she says casually, flipping a few switches as the Sato begins to orient its nose toward the planet and descend. "In these times, there is no safety anywhere. There is only less danger."

My hands grip at the arm rests as we plummet smoothly towards the surface. Like I said, I've never actually witnessed landing before, so as Ora is calmly responding to ground security and offering her identification and clearance (which is probably fabricated and purchased), I'm gritting my teeth and digging my nails into the seat's padding.

The Bothan glances at me and I glance at her, and seeing how calm she is I close my eyes and try to settle down. Beneath me the ship rattles and hums, the atmospheric dampers taking the majority of the chop but not all of it. Once the rattling stops and I feel the ship's gravity melt away to let the planet's gravity take over, I breathe out, shakily uncurling my fingers.

Ora, of course, seems perfectly at ease, resting her head back against her seat, her large eyes gazing out at the landscape that sweeps beneath us. The canopy of forests speeds by in a blur of green, and the golden, fur-like edge of a savannah lines the horizon. Little spires lift up from the trees now and again, and as we begin to slow down I can see that these are buildings – towers and high points of settlements and cities.

The Sato gracefully merges into a landing air path, and we touch down gently on a large airfield that's sizzling with activity. Freighters, smaller air craft, luxury liners, and personal vessels are all docked here, and crates, droids, and loading personnel are all over the place. Both of us unbuckle our landing harnesses and head down to the cargo bay. The hollowed out droid I'd been smuggled in suddenly comes to life, wheeling around. Only then do I notice Ora's hand moving, resting by her hip within her cloak, her fingers shifting just subtly.

She is moving it. That's how she got me out from the slavers.

The droid makes no noise, but generally people don't care enough about droids to realize that this would be strange. I hang back behind Ora and the red, hollow droid beside her as the ramp lowers and dusty sunlight pours in. Within moments a uniformed human walks up with a clip board, and a creature that looks like Ora, but is shorter and completely covered in a short pelt of ginger fur, accompanies him. That must be one of the Bimm she was talking about.

"Do you have any items to declare?" the human asks in Basic, sounding bored. The Bimm speaks directly afterward, its voice musical, but even so I can guess it's asking a question, and probably the same one. A translator. That's thoughtful of them.

Ora smiles and glances around at the hold, which is half full of secured items. "One or two. Fabrics. Velvet, Travella cloth, Killik silk, among others. Nothing contraband, I assure you."

"May we scan a random selection of crates?" the bored human asks, and the Bimm repeats in an equal measure of conviviality.

"Of course you may. Do let me know when you're finished." Ora guides me to stand by the wall along with her and her empty droid, and we watch as the human takes out a handheld device and scans some of the items in storage. The Bimm follows along, recording what the human recites to it, and after a few minutes the pair return. "Everything looks to be in order; thank you for your patience. May your dealings be lucrative." And with that, they leave.

Waiting until the two of them are well enough gone, I murmur "Is it really fabric in there?"

"Oh yes, of course" she says with a smile. "In _those_ crates."

I smile a little bit, and we see to arranging accommodations in the city, unimaginatively called "The Capital". As we walk into the city, I find that it's more or less a giant sea of markets with various buildings rising up out of it. It's loud and bright and raucous, and even though there are a few lone Imperial personnel keeping an eye on things, it's very easy to just walk past them. Besides the regular humans, there are ones that are shorter and look far more cheerful, with curly hair and beards (at least on the men). Ora tells me these types of humans are called Bimm as well. I don't get it, but I guess the cheerful humans and the furry Bimms live together as one culture. How nice.

Being what I am, I notice that everything is for sale, inanimate and alive. I catch sight of an auction that looks familiar, and Zygerrian slavers are busy hocking their latest wares. The audience only seems mildly interested, as if the very existence of slavery is strange, but here and there you see people being led in chains. Somehow it both comforts me and angers me, and Ora rests a hand on my back to urge me along.

Among all of this is a giant tower, called the Tower of Law. It's where the planetary government of Bimmisaari is located, and while the rest of the place looks laid-back and cheerful, this structure is imposing. The way the sun is set in the sky, a long shadow has been cast over the market to my right, like the whole place is a sundial. I wouldn't even be surprised if the locals actually use it as a clock. I'm not seeing a whole lot of tech around, but maybe they all just prefer a more traditional appearance.

No such luck. When Ora finds a suitable hotel, our quarters are a definite downgrade from her ship. The doors are portals that swing open on metal hinges and lock with bolts, and everything appears to be old fashion. Even the plumbing. Maybe noting my distress, or merely thinking aloud, Ora muses "We won't be staying here for long. I like to engage in business in a neutral location, and I like to conclude my dealings quickly."

"What did you bring here?" I ask quietly, standing near to her in case the rooms are bugged. Look, I'm paranoid, alright?

She just smiles at me again and I sigh as I come to a realization. "Maybe it's better for me not to know?" I get a light pat on my shoulder, and I'm sent away to unpack our belongings for the night. Shortly after we arrive Ora orders some food to be delivered, and I only realize how little I've eaten when the delicious smell of roasted meat and rice wafts in from the sitting room. I'm allowed a break as I'm handed my delivery tray and a container of cold juice, and I eat my meal as quickly as propriety allows. I'm starving, but I'm still Zygerrian. We aren't savages.

After that I bathe my fingers and face, and then I fight through the sleepy malaise of digestion as I hang up the rest of our things. There isn't much – clearly Ora doesn't intend to stay here long. That night while I'm sleeping on a mat in the bedroom, I hear a quiet conversation in the sitting room. I don't dare go in, but I do listen, and I hear at least two voices that aren't the Bothan's. The clink of physical credits can be heard, then the two depart and Ora locks the main door again.

Her bare feet pad over the wooden floor and she crouches low to press a hand to my shoulder. "It is time to leave. Pack our things quietly" she whispers, and I nod and get up to start doing that.

We leave the hotel by a back stairwell, and we slip out through the nighttime markets. I'm cautioned not to turn back, but I do when I suddenly hear commotion by the hotel we'd just left. We're halfway across the bazaar when a bright light blazes from the windows of the rooms we'd been in, and there's an even greater commotion.

"Ora?" I ask, but I'm being guided along to walk at the same speed as everyone else.

"A little item I picked up in my travels. It assures no traces of DNA remain on particles of skin, fur, or hair left behind in a room."

"Aren't sterilizers dangerous?" I whisper, tugging my hood over my head.

"Only if you insist on holding it next to your face, I suppose." She smirks, and whispers "Lesson one – do not hold a sterilizer close to your face."

"Thanks. I feel enlightened." I murmur sarcastically.

When we make it back to the Sato, I can see that the cargo hold is completely empty. Ora doesn't seem bothered by it. "Were we robbed?" I ask in an angry hiss, my white fur standing on end, ears back.

"I doubt it. Those I met with arranged for the unloading of my goods. The crates, both kinds, will be stored in appropriate locations and distributed as required. My task is done, so we don't need to stay in the Capital any longer."

The ramp to the cargo bay closes and we make our way to the cockpit, and only then do I notice that the view looks different. I frown at Ora, who is busy entering in coordinates. "Have... we moved?"

"Yes. My friends towed us to a different part of the landing field, and were kind enough to politely restructure the landing logs."

I blink, feeling the ship quietly come to life. "Who are your friends?"

"You met them this afternoon."

Another blink. "Wait, the duty officers?" Ora only smiles at me as we lift into the air, and I buckle myself in as I consider just how many connections this Bothan has.

The nighttime forests look eerie, and while there's a wind passing over the canopy, a lot of the trees aren't moving like they should. It's like the limbs are moving on their own. Maybe I'm hallucinating – maybe the spices in my lunch aren't very good for my system. Ora herself doesn't seem troubled, so I try not to worry about it. If anyone knows her way around this place, it's her.

Unlike interstellar travel, travel in atmosphere takes forever. You can't zip into hyperspace for distances like this, so while Ora takes us away from the Capital, she sends me back to my cabin to sleep. It's hard to believe that all of this has been one day, but as I lie on my cot and my head hits the pillow, I'm out like a light.


	3. Kindling Ch 3: Bimmisaari - Outlands

Kindling Chapter 3 : Bimmisaari – Outlands

Bird song greets my ears when I wake up in my cabin, the sound echoing around the ship. I can smell plants, too – peat, dirt, trees, loam, leaves, and it's not coming from her little greenhouse room either. I frown and get up, rubbing my eyes as I walk down to the cargo bay.

Green light filters in from the open hatch, and as I walk out of it I feel cool air ruffle the fur on my ears and the hair on my head. Trees taller than even the tallest towers on Zygerria loom overhead, their trunks like stately columns in a cathedral. I'm staring, my mouth open, hardly believing it. Everything is so unbelievably huge.

Ground cover is plentiful, too, and I'm pretty sure that the Sato is completely invisible here from passing ships. Bushes, smaller plants, vines, and even the trunks of fallen giants propped up on their living counterparts help to fill in the spaces, and birds of all kinds roost here and sing into the sunlight. I notice a few small mammals around, little ratlike things and deerlike things, but they scatter as I look at them. So, I'd imagine things that look like me come here enough to teach them to be cautious.

My left ear flicks at a sound and I turn to look. There's a narrow game path through the brush and I follow it, brushing aside branches and twigs until I come to a dwelling built up against the base of a tree. A fallen giant rests propped up here too, and under the trunk of the dead tree hang vines that obscure the form of a house constructed up at an angle. Green cables meant to blend in with the living vines snake their way up along the living tree, and solar panels catch sunlight in just the right spots, sending power down into the dwelling.

While I'm admiring all that, I catch the scent of stew, and already my feet are moving. I try to peer into a window, but as I step near it the roots of something snake out from the soil and grab my ankle. My efforts to kick it away are unsuccessful, and I grit my teeth in anger, staring down at the root. Suddenly it splinters along its length, splits, and writhes, releasing me. My eyes go wide and I step away, biting my lip and looking down at my hand. How had I done that? Is that what'd happened to my bone?

"What have I told you, Zajac?" comes a familiar voice from the house, the door opening of its own accord.

I slip inside without any more interference from the plants, and I close the door behind me. Ora is busy cooking soup, but that isn't the only thing she's working on. What looks like a chemistry set bubbles away on one table, while two more simmer on a shelf. A rack of plants hangs from the ceiling, with long leafy tendrils hanging down along the walls. Everywhere there are living, growing things, and I'm afraid to touch or bump up against anything.

"Sorry, Ora. It happened again."

"Mm, I know. You must be careful. I must teach you control."

At first I bristle a little at the thought. _I'm_ in control. _I'm_ civilized. But as my pride settles down I realize that she's right. I can't go around breaking things with my mind. At least... I really shouldn't be doing that to things I don't want broken. I nod and wander over after hanging up my robe on a hook. "Um... so... you're a..." It's a dangerous word these days, so I whisper it. "...Jedi?"

The Bothan nods, giving the stew a thoughtful stir. "Yes. One of the last." The sadness in her voice is subtle, but I can feel it. My ears fold back and I'm not sure what to say to that. Sorry? She ladles out a bowlful of stew for me and hands it over, along with a spoon, and I quietly stand and eat it as she gets herself a bowl. "Perhaps five, maybe six years ago, the Republic fell and the Empire emerged. The Jedi order was wiped out. Even the agricultural corps, which I was a part of, were sought out." She smiles apologetically and explains "Those who do not pass their trials, and yet can still serve, are often reassigned to a more civic-oriented career within the order. I have always enjoyed plants." With a sigh the smile fades, and she says "The Empire came even for us after it had slaughtered the knights. Many of us were captured and..." Her eyes narrow, then close.

There's a period of silence, and I ask softly "what happened to them?"

"I don't know" she admits, opening her eyes again. "But there was pain. And fear. It would have been better if they had perished."

"That's awful" I murmur, suddenly losing my appetite.

Ora sighs, straightening her back and looking at me seriously. "There are some things that are worse than death, Zajac. To be a Jedi and feel the force, and then to have it... perverted. It is evil. Don't ever give in to the dark side. Don't ever give in to hatred and anger. Not ever."

My ears fold back and I swallow. "I'll try, Ora."

For just a second I'm afraid of her, like I'm not good enough, that I might fail and fall. And if I did, what would she do? But her eyes soften and she smiles. "It is all I can ask of you. All anyone can ask of you. It's up to you to be strong enough, and to decide how to best use your connection with the Force. You do have a connection. I can sense it. Have you never suspected?"

I look down at my stew and eat another spoonful of it. "My parents once... saw me moving things. Without touching them. They punished me and warned me to never, ever to do that, or I'd be taken away." My eyes glance over at Ora's, and I look down at my stew. "I... just thought I was cursed, because I'm so dark."

"Mmm" she hums thoughtfully. "Then you do have control... just a little too much, and not over the right things."

Somehow that makes me feel better, and I smile a little. The Bothan smiles as well and claps me lightly on the shoulder. "Eat, hmm? Eat, rest, and I will introduce you to this place. You will need to keep up your strength – training will not be easy."

My ears prick and I narrow my eyes haughtily. "I can handle it."

Her hand is gentle as it cups my cheek, and she says affectionately. "We shall see."

Over the course of the next week the dye that 21B had used on my skin and hair fades away, leaving me as dark as I ever was. For a while I'd gotten used to being so pale, but I guess those sorts of things can't last. Ora's nice about it, and praises my true coloration, saying that natural things are far better than anything manufactured.

For that week, Ora only asks me to help her with chores around her house. Even though she has a lot of plants to tend, glassware to sterilize, and filtration systems to clean, this is nothing compared to what I was forced to do for nearly a year as a slave. There I'd been given the worst jobs, tossed into trash compactors to scrape down the slime from the walls. Luckily I'd never been in there when the walls began to crush together, but I'd hear the other compactor units start and panic as the guards laughed.

Working around the house also gives me a chance to watch the Bothan directly, and I notice that her life has a rhythm to it. She's awake before the sun, but doesn't go to bed until a few hours after it sets. It's as if she wants to make sure she experiences every part of the day's light, or else the day's a waste. I notice, too, that she doesn't use her powers very much. It's a little frustrating because I don't really know what a Jedi can even do. None of them really came by the part of Zygerria where I lived, though I heard a few had caused an upset with the queen many years ago. Since then they've been hated and no one talks about them.

Knowing what I do about her now, I'm glad she told me her secret in the way she did. If she'd just told me all at once I might have tried to escape and even report her to the empire – like I said, I grew up taught to think only one way about things, and have only just started to reconsider my opinions when I was sold to the slavers. Even now it's very hard to let go of some prejudices. We Zygerrians are a vain and stubborn people.

One day I ask her if she has a light saber. She's vague with her answer, but it seems to me as if it's not something she likes to show off. From what she's said, the Jedi knights were the face of the order around the galazy, swinging their weapons in arcs of brilliance against the forces of evil. Or, at least, that's how the Order had wanted it to seem. Towards the end, the knights had been responsible for countless deaths while fighting the separatists. When Ora tells me these stories at night, I can hear the shame in her voice. I don't think she approved of that at all, but it wasn't her place to say anything about it.

It's a tender subject, so the conversation dies uncomfortably, and I head off to my cot as she turns off the lights and puts out the lanterns and cooking fires.


	4. Kindling Ch 4: The Spy Network

Kindling Chapter 4: The Spy Network

The peace of Ora's house is interrupted only two weeks after we get there. It's late at night, and we've both turned down the house and gone to bed. The forest at night is noisy but I'm getting used to it – insects, birds, even the sound of arborial mammals fill the darkness with sound. And even through that I can hear the sound of footsteps.

I'm roused from a light sleep by it, thinking at first I was just dreaming. But the soft snap of a twig and the way the steps draw closer to the house make me wake up fully, and I kneel on my cot to look out the window on the wall above me. A dark figure is walking to the house with purpose, his path a straight, determined line. So far as I can tell he's the only one, and I gasp as he stops and turns his head towards me.

Quickly I duck and slip into the shadows, making sure the door is locked first. It's a mechanical lock, and I tuck myself in against the spiral staircase leading upstairs to her living space. I hold my breath as I hear the soft sound of metal on metal, and slowly watch the lock unlatch itself. The intruder's unlocking it. How is he doing it? Lock picks? It's been too quick for that – how does he have his own key?

Maybe all he wants to do is rob the place. If that's all he wants, fine – but then I remember that Ora keeps her mementos in a chest in the kitchen, and that's where he's going. If he finds out who and what she is, she's not safe. My jaw quivers but I grit my teeth, sucking in a breath as I slip through the shadows towards him.

Yet just before I can pull the blaster from his holster, he's spun around and has me pressed up with my back against the wall. The muzzle of the blaster is pressed agaainst my neck and I can hear the whine of the motor inside as it charges.

"Who are you?" he hisses, and I notice that he has pointed ears and an elongated face. He's a Bothan.

I'm hyperventillating, completely unprepared for this. "I... I..."

The gun is crammed up under my jaw, and he snarls "You have two seconds before I turn you to dust. Who are you?!"

"Please don't make me hurt you!" I cry out desperately, my breath coming in quick, frightened pants as I start to focus on his fingers. I can't stop, and I know I'm hurting him because the gun begins to shake along with his hand.

The pain makes his eyes narrow, and he snarls with fury just before Ora comes downstairs. "Stop this, right now."

My eyes roll towards her, and she holds out her hand, fingers curled rigidly. The gun tears away from the other Bothan's hand and slams into hers, and once it does she quickly dismantles it without looking, her face cold. "No weapons here. That's the rule. What idiot did they send me who cannot remember that one rule?"

The other Bothan glowers at her. "They'd pay a fortune for you" he murmurs, pressing me harder to the wall. I wasn't even struggling. Maybe he thought I would.

Ora's fur ripples just a little. "That is how you repay my charity? Threatening to expose me?" Her head tilts in consideration, and she walks up to him slowly. "What's in your mind... it's even more valuable than I am, isn't it?"

He nods, looking like he's trying to hide his fear of her. Well, he's not doing a good job.

With a glance, Ora says "release my ward."

"She tried to attack me!"

Ora looks at me, and I look at her guiltily. "I didn't know you were expecting him, Master."

"I wasn't. Not exactly." She looks back at him, and lifts an eyebrow, and reluctantly he lets me go. My back scrapes against the wall as I move away from him, until I can linger behind my mentor like a coward. Still, it's probably the safest place to be right now. "This is a safehouse for spies" she says at last.

I look over at the male Bothan and fold my ears back. He folds his ears back as he glares at me, but he softens it as he looks at Ora.

She asks "were you followed?"

He shakes his head. "No. I've been on foot for miles."

"You did not come from the Capital. That is at least four day's walking time."

The male smiles, his sharp teeth glinting in the celestial light coming in through the windows. "Five days, twelve hours, and twenty three minutes, actually." Ora walks away, unimpressed, and he seems to deflate. "Look, just let me stay here for a few days, patch in to the network, and I'll be out of here..." his voice drops into a mumble as he rubs the back of his thick, dark brown mane "...when you give me a lift to the Monura."

Ora bristles. "Give you a _lift_? Do I look like a taxi service to you?"

The male Bothan shrugs and lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I need to get off world, and I can't trust anyone else. And calling someone in will draw the attention of all the wrong kinds of people."

"Like who?" I finally ask, and when he glares at me incredulously I fold my ears back.

He snarls. "Anyone."

Ora sidesteps slightly, placing herself in between us, drawing his attention back to herself. "Where will the Monura be in the next few days?"

"It uses the Perlemian hyperspace way if it ever needs to go anywhere, but I don't know its schedule." Withering a little from her displeasure, he holds up his hands. "Hey, I can arrange a convenient rendesvous with it, as close to this sector as possible. You'll be compensated for your fuel and time." He takes advantage of how Ora's caving, and he smiles, purring "I'm telling you... this information is _golden_."

Her eyes are narrowed in thought, up until the exact second when he says "It's about an imperial super weapon."

Then her head snaps towards him, and for half a second I can see hope in her eyes. Slowly, though, it melts away into resentment. "We already know about the weapon being built at Despayre."

But the male shakes his head. "No no, I didn't mean that. There's a planet at the end of the Byss hyperlane. No one goes there because it's surrounded by imperial ships. Lots of them. Far more than any one planet should have..."

"That could mean anything..."

"So why were all the Jedi agricorps sent there?" Maybe spurred on by her widened eyes, he lowers his voice to purr "And why were huge shipments of cloning tech sent there? Who in the Empire has enough resources to round up all the surviving Jedi trained in growing things for their own use? Would the Emperor even allow anyone else to do that? And what, or who, exactly, would the Emperor spend so many credits on to clone? Who, in his eyes, would be most worth it?"

Both Ora and I are silent. To me this feels ominous, bad news that truly is a secret. But to Ora? It's like she's taking a moment to process everything because her whole view of the universe has been changed. Her brows knit and her ears fold back, and she stares towards the floor and through it, lost in thought. "He's... He has a weakness." Her head lifts to look at the other Bothan, and she murmurs "I didn't think that could ever happen." Suddenly her back stiffens and her hand clenches, and the male is yanked by an unseen force to dangle in the air inches from her face. "Is this true! Where is your proof! You can't lie about this, not to _me_!"

I cringe and slink towards the stairwell, not wanting to witness my Master behave this way. It's so unlike her. The soft creak in the stairs as I huddle up on one distracts her, and she turns her head towards me, her expression changing from anger to surprise, and then self-realization. The male is set down on his feet slowly, and she clears her throat, clasping her hands behind her back, maybe as a sign of truce.

Although a little shaken up, the male nods. "I do. Here." A beat up hologram projector is pulled out of his pocket and stuck to a nearby wall, and at the press of a button multiple windows of data come up. Ship manifests, data logs, schematics, receipts – I can't make it out from where I sit, but Ora seems convinced. "We're going to have to consider what this means, and how to best use this. But you are right – this must be sent safely to the Spynet, and the message beacons are all monitered by the Empire now." She sighs, and gestures for him to shut down the display and pocket the treasured information. "What is your name, then?"

"Ralk Shayl'lya at your service" he intones, bowing. His sharp teeth glint as he grins rakishly, and I groan softly at how corny it is. Noticing me he sniffs derisively. "Just can't please some people..."

"You tried to shoot me, jerk!"

He bristles and starts to angrily point at me. "YOU..."

"ENOUGH!" Ora yells, and both I and Ralk fall silent like children. Her frown makes both of us behave, and she intones "We will leave at dawn. Zajac – prepare your things. And Ralk?"

His ears perk and his large eyes become attentive.

Ora points a finger at him. "No disintegrations."

The weapon is handed back to him, and he salutes her lazily. "You got it, Captain."


End file.
